


A Pirate's Treasure

by homeiswherethehorroris



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Eventual Fluff, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fairytale Land AU, Loss of Virginity, Love, Mild Language, Minor Violence, Older Man/Younger Woman, OlderHook, PreCurse, YoungEmma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-05-23
Packaged: 2018-03-25 22:19:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3827050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/homeiswherethehorroris/pseuds/homeiswherethehorroris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma Swan’s elderly adoptive parents are indebted to Killian Jones, a debt they pay off yearly, until one year they can no longer afford to. So in recompense the handsome, criminal of the high seas asks for the only thing they have left; their daughter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Welcome Aboard The Jolly Roger

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, so this is my first ever Captain Swan fanfic. (so please be nice?)  
> I will try not to include spoilers anywhere in this story, however if I do I will warn you beforehand.  
> Comments and Kudos are really appreciated!  
> Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy :)

The time for rain had settled in quickly, heavy water droplets falling quickly from the sky as though the gods themselves were weeping from the heavens above. A bone-chilling north-east wind had begun to blow, whipping the two-figures’, huddled together by the docks, cloaks sharp around them both. Young Emma Swan and her father stood close together on the rickety decking, watching and waiting attentively as a ships’ mast slowly penetrated the fog on the horizon. Green eyes wide with fear, Emma huddled into her father’s side, seeking comfort. Frail, withered hands held her tight, as eyes equally fearful as her own bore into hers. 

“You don’t have to do this my sweet,” her father’s hands clutched at hers. “We can run, somewhere he’d never find us,”

“And make things worse Papa?” Emma breathed, voice barely heard over the sound of the wind. “No, I’m going; it’s the only way to repay yours and Mama’s debt,” 

Tears brimmed in the old man’s eyes as he kissed her hand. “Bless you sweet child, your too kind for this world,” 

They embraced tightly, silent tears flowing between them.

“He’ll not have you long,” her father’s hoarse words whispered into her shoulder. “I’ll come back for you, mark my words my sweet,”

They stood there, exchanging more hushed words, even as The Jolly Roger drew nearer. 

Releasing her, Emma’s father stood back, looking out towards the ocean. “She’s coming my sweet, won’t be long now till she’s upon us,”

No less than the words left his lips, the ship in questions considerable bulk came fully into view, the inhabitants scrambling to prepare for docking. With wide eyes Emma watched fascinated as three large, heavily tattooed men hoisted the anchor overboard, breaking the sea’s surface with a crash of waves. Her hand found her father’s once more as three others heaved the gangplank down, enabling a small, stout man in a red hat to disembark the vessel. Up close he was a short thing, red-cheeked and wheezing as though the short walk had tired him, he took off his hat as he approached, holding it against his chest.

“M-Miss Swan? I’m Smee, William Smee. I’ve had orders from the Captain to escort you aboard,” he mumbled, keeping his head down. 

Emma nodded before turning to her father once more, flinging her arms tight around him, they embraced momentarily. Releasing one another the two bid their farewells as Smee shifted nervously from foot to foot, as though imposing on something private. Grabbing the small bundle of belonging’s she’d been instructed to bring, Emma took a small step towards Smee, the former stepping aside and gesturing to the gangplank. Briefly her eyes shuttered closed, feeling the wind breeze across her features and the gulls cawing high in the sky, she took the moment to gather herself before taking the first step onto the gangplank. Onwards she went, refusing to look back in fear of what she might do, hearing nothing except the board creaking under Smee’s heavy steps. Eventually she reached the top of the plank, where one of the tattooed men who’d lifted the anchor was waiting for her, letting out a grunt he offered her his hand, which she accepted gratefully. 

Now aboard The Jolly Roger, Emma looked about in awe, being only a girl based of stock she’d never seen past her village before and the only ships she’d seen were pictures in storybooks when she was but a babe. Actually being on one was entirely different, all around her people were busy at work, be it hoisting the sails or scrubbing the decks not one soul was standing still. The vessel itself was splendour only Emma could have thought about in her dreams, proud and magnificent in structure The Jolly Roger was equally as impressive up close as it was afar. The sound of wheezing behind her notified Emma that Smee had made it up the plank, still wheezing he shuffled to her side.

“If you’d like to follow me Miss? Captain’s awaiting your presence,” 

“Please, call me Emma,” she said, offering the older pirate a slight smile.

“O-Of course,” he stammered, surprised. “R-Right this way Miss – I mean – Emma,”

Smee shuffled away with Emma following close behind him. He lead her across the entirety of the main deck, curses and japes from the other members of the crew following them, until Smee stopped outside a oval, wooden door. Straightening himself up, Smee knocked upon the door.

“Enter,” came a deep, masculine voice from within. 

Opening the door slightly Smee beckoned Emma inside before shutting the door behind her. Blinking foolishly Emma allowed her eyesight to adjust from the stark light of day, to the candlelight environment she’d just entered. If she’d thought the main deck impressive, it was a mere tavern compared to the sheer luxury of this room. From wall to floorboard the entire room was decorated in red and black, the colour scheme evident in the furnishings as well, further heightening the dark atmosphere. In the centre of the room sat a large, polished desk with two comfy looking armchairs across from it, and to the left of that stood another table, larger than the desk adorned with maps galore. Leant over the table, with his back to her, busy perusing said maps was a young man, one hand resting on the side of the table the other not visible to her. Opening her mouth to alert him of her presence, Emma shut it as soon as she’d opened it, for suddenly the man turned around. Instantly bright, azure eyes bored into hers stilling her to core, from behind he was pleasing but now facing her he was truly jaw-dropping. Clad in nothing but leather, it complimented his body perfectly, hugging every muscle and curve available. Leading up to chiselled cheekbones and a jaw line that would make even Adonis weep, covered in a light dusting of mahogany coloured stubble. 

“Ah, you must be Emma Swan,” turning around fully he leaned back against the table.

Only then did Emma notice the hand that was originally hidden from her view, wasn’t actually a hand. Instead of a regular human hand, attached to his left wrist was a lethal  
looking hook, sharpened crudely into a point. He must have noticed her prolonged staring if his knowing smirk was anything to go by. “Don’t worry about this old piece of tin Miss  
Swan,” he drawled flirtatiously. “I won’t hurt you, unless you want me to,”

Emma flushed, averting her eyes, when she looked up again he was standing in front of her. “Come, sit,” he gestured to one of the armchairs in front of his desk with his hook. 

She complied, watching him take a seat across from her. “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced Miss Swan, name’s Killian Jones although, you may know me by an entirely different moniker altogether?” 

“Hook,” she whispered, earning a small smirk from Killian.

“Aye, that’s the one,” he said, eyes never leaving hers. “I suppose you know why you’re here?” 

Emma nodded.

“And I suppose you would like to know exactly what you will be doing during the duration of your stay?”

She nodded again. 

“It’s quite simple really,” he said, admiring his hook in the light. “Throughout your stay with us you will clean, prepare my meals, help me dress and warm my bed at night,” He grinned, eyes meeting hers. “And anything else I require of you,”

Again Emma nodded, unable to complain. 

“You will serve me until your parent’s debt is repaid, after that you will have your freedom once more,” he raised an eyebrow. “Any questions?”

“No,” Emma whispered. 

“Good,” he settled back in his chair. “I’m aware that you’ve brought your belongings with you?”

“Yes,” she answered, gesturing to the small bundle she clutched. 

“That’s it?” he dubiously looked at the bundle, sighed then scribbled something on a piece of paper. “We’ll drop anchor at the next harbour to purchase some more clothes for you,”

She opened her mouth to protest but was interrupted by the sound of the door opening once more. Looking over her shoulder she noticed Mr Smee, hat on this time, standing slightly in the doorway and peering expectantly at Killian.

“Mr Smee, set sail,” the latter spoke curtly, dismissing him with a withering look, before getting gracefully to his feet. “Miss Swan have you ever seen a ship cast off before?”  
***

She hadn’t, but now stood beside Killian, watching him bark orders over the helm, she was about to. 

“Weigh anchor!” he bellowed, eyes glinting with childish mirth. As no sooner than he’d uttered it, men scrambled to do his bidding, hauling the anchor out of the waves quicker than it’d been dropped. 

Amidst the commotion Smee came scrambling up the steps, hovering beside Killian. “She’s ready Captain,”

“Good,” Killian responded stoically, effectively dismissing Smee once more, before turning to Emma and grinning wolfishly. “I do hope you don’t get sea sick Miss Swan,”  
With an almighty groan and a sharp flick of Killian’s skilled wrists, the ship lurched into action, sending an unprepared Emma flying backwards against the wooden deck. Killian’s raucous laughter rung in her ears, colour rushing into her cheeks as she attempted to gather herself, getting back onto her feet swiftly, this time with a firm grip on the ship’s side. Through her embarrassment Emma watched as the place that had been her home shrunk into the distance, leaving her peers and family behind. Pain lacerated her chest at the thought of not knowing when she’d see her beloved hometown again or what awaited her whilst embarking on this voyage. However she could not contain the excitement blossoming inside her about the prospect of travelling the high seas, she’d never seen outside her village gate before and had always secretly yearned for adventure. And now, she risked a glance at Hook - who was staring straight ahead completely lost in navigation, at the hands of this man she finally had a chance. 

Disrupting her musings, she heard Killian whistle, summoning a bald pirate with more tattoos then skin. An unspoken message past between them ending with Killian handing the man the helm, a quick look in Emma’s direction and she knew to follow. Without breaking his stride Killian led her across the midship and down a flight of stairs that concealed an exquisitely carved door, which he held open for her, following closely behind. Emma found herself in a bedchamber so grand that she figured it had to be Killian’s quarters, like the navigation room it conformed to the colour scheme of red and black, with heavy, velvet curtains that framed a view looking out across the ocean. A black marble fireplace, situated in the rear of the room, filled the room with a warm, golden glow, the shadows of fire dancing across the two armchairs placed in front. However dominating the room was a bed unlike she’d ever seen before, carved entirely out of mahogany, its headboard featured two angels in flight locked in passionate embrace. Red, silk sheets adorned it with black throw cushions and matching curtains, which could be drawn around if its inhabitants wanted privacy.

Emma suddenly felt extremely self-conscious being around such splendour; as though her very clothes were contaminated with filth, despite the simple dress she wore being her best. Casually Killian circled around her, shrugging off his leather coat he threw it over the back of a plush armchair, before addressing her. 

“This is where we will sleep,” he said, with a seductive edge to his voice.

“We?” Emma queried.

“Yes, I do recall informing you that one of your primary tasks will be warming my bed each night,” 

Emma opened and closed her mouth wordlessly. “I-It’s just, I wasn’t expecting-“

“What were you expecting then? The brig?” he interrupted. “No Miss Swan, I am much more gentlemanly then you credit me for,” He stepped closer, so close that their chests could touch, running his one hand through her hair. “I would never allow such a pretty lass as you to sleep with the rats,”

Unsure if it was out of fear or pleasure her breathing hitched, words not forming.

Abruptly he released her, taking a step backwards. “Come Miss, Night fast approaches and I would like to rest. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow,”

Still when Emma did not move, he grew impatient, sinking down into one of the armchairs he barked. “Prepare me for bed lass, sharpish,”

Embarrassed by her foolishness Emma jolted at his words, setting her belongings down, she wiped her hands on her dress before edging towards him. Gingerly she sank onto her knees and began to unlace his boots, as her fingers fumbled clumsily with the unfamiliar lacings; she prayed he didn’t find her inapt. Mercifully the laces came undone, enabling her to slide off each boot in turn; once the chore was finished she stood again, unsure what to do next.

He must have sensed her unease for he remarked. “You’ve never undressed a man before have you lass?”

His words struck true and she flushed again, feeling ashamed of her inexperience.

“In fact I’d be willing to wager you’ve never seen a man naked before,”

She nodded, confirming his words, hearing him inhale sharply. “Your father spoke true then, you are indeed unknown to men,” His tongue swept out and wetted his bottom lip. “Regardless lass, continue you’re doing just fine,”

Heart knocking against her ribcage Emma leaned in closer, fingers finding his shirt she undid the laces and gently pulled the material over his head. Folding it carefully, she placed it beside his coat, and then started on the coarse lacings of his leather trousers. Those too joined his discarded clothing, and she was shocked to find that he was completely bare underneath them, nothing but alabaster skin and auburn curls. Unexpectedly he stood, shocking Emma into taking a step backwards.

“Your turn lass,” he breathes, a teasing lilt to his voice. 

“M-My turn?” Emma stammered.

“Aye,” he stands before her, eyes on hers. “Allow me,”

His hook around her waist, he pulled her closer to him, his free hand unlacing her bodice with skill only a practised lover could manage. Once loosened he pulled the sleeves free from her arms, the material now pooling around her ankles, leaving her bare to his gaze. He stared at her unabashed until she grew self-conscious; covering her breasts with her hands she averted her eyes. She felt certain he was grinning but didn’t get a chance to look before he swept her into his arms. Startled, she clutched onto his shoulders as he walked with her towards his bed, before she could protest he lowered her back against the silks and climbed in beside her. 

Confused, Emma lay awake long after Killian had drifted into a boneless sleep, the flickering of the fire and her thoughts of home the only company she had all night.


	2. Life At Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma gets a small taste of life aboard The Jolly Roger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - Thank you for the wonderful response to this story, I couldn't be more grateful!  
> Again, Kudos and Comment's are much appreciated :)

The following day Emma awoke to the sound of gulls and the sea, lapping gently against the ship’s side. Emitting a slight yawn, she stretched out her aching limbs, almost rousing a sleeping Killian curled beside her. Sprawled out across the mattress in all directions, the feared Captain Hook dozed peacefully, occasional snores slipping past his parted lips. Now looking at him, Emma would never have guessed that this man had slaughtered hundreds. What with his dark hair flopping, untamed across his sinfully, handsome features and his long, full eyelashes resting against tanned cheeks, he looked no younger than a boy. As not to wake him, Emma gently eased out of bed, feeling the chilly welcome of the morning air wrap round her. Barefoot, she padded over to the window, peering out through the heavy, velvet curtains. With the position of the sun as her guide, Emma estimated that it was around six in the morning, which did not dispel her mood as she was used to rousing this early when she was at home, to help her family on the farm. Homesickness blooming in her gut, Emma retrieved her bundle of belongings, sorting through the small pile until she found a suitable dress for her morning duties. 

As quietly as she could muster she slipped it over her small frame, lacing and tying her bodice tightly before slipping on her regular work shoes. Out of the corner of her eye she glanced at her and Killian’s discarded clothes from the previous night, after pondering a while she eventually bundled them into her arms then with one last look at Killian, silently slipped out the cabin. This time she tackled the small staircase leading to the Captain’s quarters, with a spring in her step, entering the main deck in no time. Much to her surprise the main deck was completely barren, with not one soul in sight, figuring the crew must have been below deck sleeping Emma pressed on. Crossing the midship she travelled down another, longer flight of stairs that Killian had pointed out beforehand, informing her they led to the kitchen. As she walked she followed the merry tune that was being whistled, by the cook she presumed, her presumptions confirmed when she walked in to find an elderly woman peeling potatoes at an impressive pace. 

She stopped and looked up when Emma shyly approached. “Oh, Good morning lassie! You must be Emma,” she struggled to her feet, holding out her hand. “I’m Widow Lucas, but you can just call me Granny m’dear,” 

Awkwardly Emma shook her hand, supporting her mound of clothes under her armpit. “Pleasure to meet you, forgive my ignorance but where do I put clothes to be laundered?” 

Granny laughed, placing a veined hand on the small of Emma’s back, she propelled her towards the back of the kitchen were a large wooden tub, filled with clothes, and a washboard were situated. “Here dear,” 

Gratefully Emma smiled and added her bundle to the clothes already inside the tub. “Pardon me again, but what does the Captain like for his morning meal?”

Granny’s smile grew. “No need for pleasantries lassie, we we’re all new once. If I recall properly Captain Jones has a penchant for eggs and game,”

“And how would I go about preparing that?” Emma asked tentatively, unused to all these foreign foods that weren’t accessible to her family.

“Tell you what dear,” Granny shuffled over to the stove, retrieving a large mixing bowl she handed it to Emma. “You make the eggs, and I’ll prepare the meats,” 

Taking the proffered bowl Emma placed it on the wooden countertop, as Granny busied herself in the fridge, pulling from within its confines sausages, bacon and eggs. Grasping the meats, she slid the eggs over to Emma, who took them thankfully. Cracking three into the bowl Emma set about whisking them together, whilst Granny forked sausages and bacon into a pan. As the two worked they chattered absentmindedly about life aboard The Jolly Roger and the adventures she’d had whilst in Killian’s services. Emma listened, hanging on to the woman’s every word as she described sword-fights and sea monsters in quick succession, all the while preparing the Captain’s breakfast. Whilst Granny was recounting a story from her youth Emma prepared a tray, with which she could take Killian’s meal to him, loading it with tea and toast prior to Granny’s instructions. Lastly, during the climax of her tale, Granny leant over and placed a plate piled high with food on the tray proudly. 

“There yer’ go lassie! Knew we could do it,” she winked playfully, her mood infectious. 

“I cannot thank you enough,” Emma began, silenced by Granny’s raised hand.

“What good is a crew that doesn’t lend each other a hand eh?” she smiled, clapping her hands together she glanced at the clock. “Oh gods be good, it’s nearly eight o’clock! Look at us gassing away, go child go! The Captain likes to be roused at eight sharp!” 

Quicker than she’d thought was possible Emma grasped the tray firmly, bidding Granny a hasty farewell, and began her journey back to Killian’s quarters. Thankfully she made it back to his cabin with two minutes to spare, awkwardly opening the door whilst balancing the tray one-handed, she let the door click softly shut behind her. Killian was as she’d left him, although now seemingly troubled. Instead of the slumbering infant she’d seen in him before she’d left, he now seemed uneasy, the sheets curled around his legs as though he’d been fighting a tremendous battle. Sweat dotted his clenched brow and had covered the chiselled, muscles of his chest in a wet sheen, his breathing laboured as though he’d had a nightmare. 

After drinking her fill she placed the breakfast tray down on a table before crossing over to the drapes, pulling them apart so that sunlight streamed into the room and rained across his face. Slowly he woke, his baby blues adjusting to the sudden assault of light. 

He stretched. “There are other more pleasurable ways you could of woke me Miss Swan,” he grumbled, his voice husky from sleep.

Immediately she flushed, realising her mistake. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t think-“

He held his hand up, silencing her. “No need for apologies Miss Swan, I wouldn’t accept this rude awakening from anyone but you,” He settled back against the headboard, unperturbed by his obvious display of nakedness, he sniffed the air. “Something smells exquisite,”

Remembering, she grabbed the tray, holding it out in front of her. “I - I mean me and Miss Lucas – I mean Granny – prepared your breakfast for you,”

“I’m flattered,” he grinned, covering his lap with the silk comforter. “Bring it over then,” 

Flustered by his advances, Emma shakily brought the tray to his side, placing it carefully on his lap. She dropped to into an elegant curtsey and began to walk away, when he caught her by the wrist with his hook. “And where do you think you’re going Miss Swan?” 

“T-To prepare your garb Captain,” she stuttered, frightened by his sudden movement. 

He feigned hurt. “You’d have your Captain eat one handed? Bad form Miss Swan,” He raised an eyebrow then released his hold on her; grabbing the cutlery she’d provided he offered it to her. 

Was he really insinuating?...

He waved the cutlery at her again, impatiently. Getting the unspoken message she took the utensils from him and sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, taking the fork she stabbed a piece of sausage, offering it to him. Leaning forward he took the meat from her with his teeth, chewing appreciatively, whilst she shakily prepared to administer another mouthful. She fed him another bite; however this time when she tried to move, he stilled her hand. Eyes fixed firmly on him, she watched as he raised her hand to eye level so that she could see the stripe of grease covering her littlest finger. She blushed, figuring that she must have accidently brushed against the plate whilst feeding him. However instead of wiping it off, Killian brought her finger up to his mouth, adeptly sucking it into the wet heat. Heat bloomed inside her body, filling her cheeks with colour, as sensations she’d never felt before ran through her body from the point where they were joined. Scared of her bodily reaction, Emma wrenched her hand away quickly, Killian’s grin unmissable.

“Prepare my garb Miss Swan; I’ll finish off here,” 

Like a fool she nodded, drifting away from him in a dream-like daze, unable to believe what had just happened. Shaking her head firmly, to rid herself of her thoughts, she set about organizing his clothes, laying out a fresh shirt and trousers for him. The sudden ceasing of cutlery scraping against china notified her that Killian had finished his meal; she whirled around - intent on reclaiming the tray – and crashed straight into Killian, who had stealthily climbed out of bed and was busy pulling on his trousers. 

He chuckled, steadying her with his hand on her waist. “Steady on lass,” 

She dipped her head, mumbling an apology before walking away to re-make the bed and carry the now empty tray back to the table she’d originally placed it on. Now half-dressed, Killian handed her his belt, taking it from him she threaded it through the loops of his leathers and buckled it tightly. 

He grunted as she did. “Easy on the goods love,” 

Shocked, she glanced up at him.

“It was a jest, fear not Swan,” he smiled, shrugging on his coat just as there came a knock on the door. “Enter!” 

The door opened and from around it Mr Smee’s red face appeared. “Sorry to disturb you Captain, but land ahoy,” 

“Set our course Mister Smee and head straight for it,” Killian shot a teasing glance at Emma. “We need to be sufficiently stocked if Miss Swan is to be staying with us,” 

***

Evidently a ship docking was equally fascinating to watch whether you were spectating or experiencing, Emma realised as The Jolly Roger came to a smooth halt in Porte Marianne’s harbour. Deftly the gangplank was again lowered, allowing her, Killian and a few other members of his crew to disembark the vessel. Now standing on the boardwalk of Porte Marianne Emma felt a rush of excitement, she’d only ever heard stories of explorers and merchants travelling here, never before had she ever imagined that she herself would be standing where so few people were able to go. 

Killian, obviously uninterested in the Porte’s splendour, was at her side discussing with Smee when they’d set sail again. The two men seemed to come to an agreement, or rather Smee succumbed to Hook’s orders, and he motioned for her to follow him. 

She ran to keep up with his long stride. “If I may ask Captain, where are you taking me?”

“To a friend of mine, he designs garb for all sorts of wealthy lords and ladies,” he flashed his signature grin. “I included of course,”

“You – You don’t have to buy me clothes,” Emma whispered, startled when he abruptly turned to face her, almost toe to toe.

“No offence intended Miss Swan, but I’ve seen beggars clothed better than some of the garb you wear,” As if to prove his point, he motioned to her fraying bodice, which she hadn’t had time to repair. “I won’t have any wench of mine looking like a commoner,”

Embarrassment and anger bubbled underneath her skin as he carried on walking, unable to resist she cursed at his retreating back, having to run again to keep up with him. 

Eventually they came to a small shop, almost hidden out of view by all the stately townhouses and shops surrounding it, which without knocking Killian entered, ushering Emma inside behind him. Upon their arrival a small man with a rather impressionable moustache peered over his desk, noticing Killian he beamed and waddled over to greet them both. 

“Mr Jones,” he squeaked, shaking Killian’s hand warmly. “So nice to have you back,”

“Aye,” he replied dismissively, using his hook to propel Emma forward. “I’ve brought this lass to you, to experience your – expertise, per say?”

Beaming at Killian’s praise, the dwarf scuttled towards Emma, surveying her current dress with eagerness. Satisfied, he retrieved a large wooden container from behind his desk, taking out of it confines, a tape measure. Emma spend the next period of time being measured, which the little man carried out with an extreme flourish, whilst Killian surveyed from afar, boredom evident in his features. Finally, the deed was done, and the shop owner jumped down from his stool with glee. Darting past Killian, to wheel a rack of dresses under her nose, with obvious effort.

“These are befitting to your structure, m’lady,” he informed her, breathlessly. “Please regard them at your leisure,”

“Thank you,” she told him, remembering her courtesies. He blushed and scuttled back over to his desk, leaving her to peruse the rack. Astounded, Emma ran her hands over the heavy material of the garments, never having seen a dress so intricately designed before. A sudden movement at her elbow startled her into turning around, to find Killian holding a dress by its hanger on his hook, obviously his choice. A deep red in colour, the plunging neckline left little to the imagination, with ruffles upon ruffles of skirt below. Shyly, she took it from him, and Killian must have gestured with his hook, for the owner came scuttling over to help lace her into it. Shielded out of view by an oak-panelled screen, Emma was laced tightly into the garment by his gentle hands.

“Come on Swan, let’s get a look,” came Killian’s teasing voice, from behind the screen. 

With gentle prompt from the dressmaker Emma walked out from behind the screen, tucking her hair behind her ears apprehensively she avoided his azure gaze. Silence ensued and she knew he was scrutinizing her, plucking up the courage she finally risked a look at him. Jaw tense and eyes diluted so much they were almost back; he stared back at her, his look alone enough to root her to the spot. 

“I approve,” he ground out, finally breaking the tangible silence. “Red is indeed your colour Miss Swan,”

“Thank you,” she breathed. 

Bowing his head, he turned away from her, effectively ceasing the conversation. Heart pounding and a little confused Emma disappeared back behind the screen, thoughts of Killian entering her mind.  
***

Just as nightfall was settling across the sky, Emma left the tailors now four dresses wealthier, Killian’s crimson choice included. She’d given him her thanks many times, during and after the process of the fitting; however each time he’d brush them off, refusing to accept her gratitude. Still she persisted all the way back to The Jolly Roger, which given time made his rumbling laughter echo around the Porte. They neared the gangplank and Emma softly gripped his whole arm. “Jesting aside, thank you,”

He sighed in mock defeat. “Alright Miss Swan, I’ll accept your token of gratitude, now please cease talking,”

She smiled and he stepped closer. “Look,” he remarked. “The sunset is a truly beautiful sight,”

His arms banding around her waist, he turned her round to face the ocean front, so she could see the sun slowly sinking behind it. True to his words, the sunset was a breathtaking sight. Relaxing, she felt his mouth brush her ear. “Happy birthday Miss Swan,”


	3. The Flying Wench

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Emma finds herself used as a pawn for Hook's business at a local tavern. Drinks ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in posting this installment!  
> Again thank you for the wonderful feedback I've received on this story!  
> Kudos and Comments are very much appreciated!  
> And I hope you enjoy :)

The previous night, as she was undressing him, Killian had predicted sweltering weather and as much as she hated to admit it the pirate’s presumptions were right. With the sun beating down on her back, Emma had spent the past few hours scrubbing the entire poop deck. Now sat back, scrubbing brush in hand, she wiped the back of her palm over her sweaty brow, surveying her hard work. When they’d returned to The Jolly Roger the following evening, Hook had given Smee distinct orders to stay docked in Porte Marianne, as he had business the next day. No more was said on the matter, and Emma’s curiosity was mounting as the hours passed. Disturbing her thoughts, a loud shout was heard from the main deck, where Killian and his crew were exhibiting their sword-fighting skills in an attempt to pass time. So far, from what she could hear, Killian was yet undefeated and had no trouble gloating about the fact. Sitting back on her haunches, she peered over the wooden railings at the men below. Seeing that most of the crew had discarded their shirts in attempt to escape the almost suffocating heat, Killian included. Whereas Emma, for modesty’s sake, had no choice but to battle it out.

Whilst selecting his next opponent Killian, out of the corner of his eye caught Emma watching with interest. “Miss Swan!” he called, in that flirtatious manner of his. “Come quick, and watch me teach these landlubbers a thing or two about drawing steel!”

The crowd that had gathered emitted a series of shouts and wails, some agreeing and others disputing the fact. Emma smiled over the balcony at him. “So full of confidence Captain, pray tell me how sure you are that you’ll win?”

His grin widening at her jest, he quickly scaled the stairs leading up to the balcony and, grasping her hand, pulled her down to the main deck. As she approached, another pirate upturned a barrel so that she could sit and spectate comfortably. Once she was seated, Killian dropped to one knee, his face so close that she could feel his breath gust across her features as he whispered. “Give me your favour,”

Reaching up, she untied the handkerchief she’d fastened around her head, to keep her hair tidy and pressed it into his palm. Taking it from her, she watched as he wound it around his wrist fastening it in place with a tight knot. He leaned in close to her again. “Now I’m guaranteed to win,”

Breath hitching in her throat Emma watched him raise, gesture to a crew member, and take his place. The man he’d chosen stepped forward, bulky and heavily tattooed she recognised him as one of the men who’d helped move the gangplank the very first time she boarded The Jolly Roger. Apprehension seeped into her body, filling her full of fear for Killian’s safety. The two men squared up; circling each other a moment before Killian lunged with his sword narrowly missing the man’s shoulder.  What followed after was a blurring sequence of thrust and parries, the two men meeting each other blow for blow. Adrenaline from witnessing the action pulsed through Emma and she couldn’t stop herself from joining her voice with the crowd’s, spurring Killian on. Emma soon learnt that despite the obvious advantage the other pirate had over Killian, she could see that his movements were sloppy and uncoordinated, whereas Killian’s were strong and sure, ultimately costing him the victory. With one final lunge Killian managed to overthrow his opponent, the latter’s sword clattering to the decking and his hands going up in surrender. Immediately the crowd burst into applause, whilst the two men shook hands, Emma jumping up and down from pure excitement.

 A large smirk spreading across his face, Killian strode over to Emma in three strides, pulling her into his arms he spinned her round in a circle. She giggled, clutching onto his shoulders to steady herself, once he put her down. “That was incredible!”

“It was rather wasn’t it?” he said smugly, tossing his sword to another crew member as they walked past. “Come Miss, I am in need of a bath,” Banding his hooked arm around her waist he propelled her towards the staircase leading to his cabin, taking it two steps at a time he shut the door behind her. While he waited, Emma prepared his bath, running up and down the small flight of steps with pails of lukewarm water until the copper basin was full. Wiping her brow again, Emma moved towards a now seated Killian, lowering to her knees she began her routine of undressing him, removing his boots first and then his leathers, his shirt having already been discarded long ago. Lastly she removed his prosthetic, which he’d entrusted her to do after her second night aboard his ship, leaving his stump uncovered. She sensed he didn’t like her looking for extended periods of time since he immediately retired to his bath, hiding his deformity below the surface of the water. A ghost of a sympathetic smile ghosted the corners of her mouth, at his display of vulnerability, seemingly so unlike the buccaneer she’d been warned about her entire life. Setting his hook down, Emma started folding his clothes, busying herself so she wouldn’t be tempted to stare at his gloriously naked form.

Pulling her from the chore, a splattering of water rained across the back of her legs, shocked and a little amused she whirled around to find Killian grinning at her. “I do believe bathing me was a part of your duties Miss Swan. Or need I remind you of our contract?” Playful Killian was back with vengeance.

Wiping her hands on her apron Emma approached the side of the tub, bending at the knees she picked up the sponge he’d provided her with for these occasions. Dipping it in the water she wringed it out and moved to run it across the skin of his shoulder, he stopped her with his hand, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief. “I prefer my handmaidens naked,”

Heart knocking against her ribs, Emma froze, stunned at what he was asking her to do. With shaky fingers she began unlacing the ties on her corset, the dress having been one of Killian’s own choices, which she’d chosen to wear especially for him today. Unlike the red dress this one was aquamarine in colour and more practical for daily work; Killian had said it reminded him of the ocean on a summer’s day, amongst other remarks that had made her flush. Having loosened the last tie Emma let the garment fall to the floor, along with the skirt which she had tugged down along with her smallclothes, so she was standing bare before him.

Reaching out his hand Killian rested it on the slender curve of her waist before tracing it down her abdomen and hipbone, eventually stopping at her thigh, his ministrations raising gooseflesh along her skin. “Come,” he breathed, sitting up against the back of the basin, making more room. “Join me,”

Proffering her his hand, he helped her step into the bath, settling her in the space he’d made between his legs. Reaching out he gripped her thigh, pulling her onto his lap, so her legs were either side of his hips. He smirked up at her. “Now you can wash me adequately,”

Reaching over the rim of the tub with nervous fingers, she retrieved the sponge and a bar of soap. Rubbing the soap against her palms until she’d worked up a rich lather, Emma began rubbing the lightly scented detergent all over the broad expanse of Killian’s chest, combing her fingers through the coarse, dark hair that grew there. Killian sighed, his head rolling backwards to expose the tanned, column of skin that was his neck, the tendons jutting out sharply. Pleased by his reaction, Emma continued exploring his body, all muscle, sinew and strength; he was delicious in every way. Suppressing a giggle, she fleetingly considered using his toned chest as a washboard; certainly it’d be more amusing than what she was using already. Wringing the sponge out again with clean water, she began rinsing him of stray soap suds, his pupils peering up at her under half-lidded eyes.

Caught in the spur of the moment she blurted. “How did you know it was my birthday? The other day I mean,”

He smiled at her lazily. “I am well over a hundred years old Miss Swan, and for the past eighteen of them I’ve come to your home every year on that exact day, to collect what I was owed. Over time I watched you grow from a fledgling into a swan,” he brushed a piece of hair behind her ear. “That’s how I know,”

“When’s yours?” she breathed, loving the feeling of his fingers in her hair.

“I’ve long since forgotten,” he replied.  “It’s been many moons since I last celebrated my birthday,”

“That’s horrible,” Emma breathed.

The water moved with his shoulders as he shrugged underneath her. “It’s not so bad, now-“he took the soap from her. “I believe you are in need of a wash Miss,”

Stomach clenching in expected excitement. She watched warily as he lathered his hand, with some difficulty, using the near transparent bar of soap she’d used on him, a sweet scent echoing his own surrounding her as he began transferring some of the suds onto her body. Like she had he started with her shoulders and neck, his touch liberal despite being short-handed, before moving lower. Tenderly his fingertips brushed the generous swell of her breasts, cupping the weight of one fully, he brushed his thumb over the nipple, making it pebble slightly.

Shuddering, she jerked away shyly from his touch, her action making him grin. “S’Alright love, I’d never hurt you,”

“It’s not that,” she breathed, fixing her eyes on his chest and the scars that littered it.

His laugh vibrated through her as his abdominal muscles flexed with each exertion. “Another time eh?” he winked then patted her on the behind before sitting up in the water, almost sending her backwards. “Come Swan, I need to be looking my best for this ‘rendezvous’ tonight,”

As if to punctuate his sentence he rose from the water, sending water droplets everywhere, and strode over to where Emma had had the foresight to ready a towel for him. Whilst Killian busied himself with the towel, Emma too exited the bath, finding her discarded dress on the floor she began lacing herself into it again, when she felt a hand close around her arm. Glancing up she met the eyes of a half-dressed Killian, prosthetic included, in which he held a deep seaweed colored dress, not one of his gifts to her.

“Wear this tonight,“ he pressed it into her hand. “I want you looking breathtaking,”

Grateful and a little shocked, she took it from him, not registering Killian move away and resume dressing. Drying herself briefly, Emma exchanged her dress for the one Killian had just given her, noting how it fit perfectly and, after looking in the mirror, saw the material matched her eyes.

“Come Miss Swan, I am in need of a hand,” Killian called from an armchair, with a hint of his signature smile, the irony not lost on her. Returning the smile, she moved towards him to do his bidding.

***

This night was a cold one, Emma noted, suddenly grateful for the woollen shawl Granny had lent her before disembarking The Jolly Roger. The whole crew, at Hook’s orders, had been given leave for tonight, meaning everyone could go about their business before setting sail in the morning. Many had headed off in the direction of the whore house whereas others, her and Hook included, were headed towards the local tavern – a raucous shack, perched perilously on the edge of the harbor going by the name of “ _The Flying Nymph_ ”. Emma soon learned that the interior wasn’t much better, the closeness of the sea having made the whole place stink of damp wood, with a few upturned barrels and crates serving as tables and chairs. Still, the place was packed, with gentlemen and ladies alike. Being a small farm girl, Emma wasn’t sure how to react to the obvious display of debauchery, whereas Hook on the other hand seemed right at home, women surrounding him as soon as his crossed the threshold.

Gripping the lapels of his leather coat, she pulled him away from his admirers, earning a loud wail from the group of girls. “You’re making a business transaction here?” 

“No love-” he pulled her close enough that his lips brushed the shell of her ear, his free hand going to the laces of her bodice. “- You’re making a business transaction here,”

Emma’s blood ran cold, even as his hand made quick work of her bodice. “What?”

Tying the lace again, having loosened the garment enough that a generous amount of her cleavage was showing, Killian turned her around to look at the bar. “See that man there? With the receding hairline and gold tooth?”

Emma nodded.

“That’s our man,” he whispered. “Now what I want you to do is simple. Go over there and tell him “The Queen Anne sails tonight” - that’s the code - if all goes well he should provide you with some information in which you will forward to me. Understood?”

She nodded again, the whisper of his voice against her skin making her ache pleasurably. “What if he doesn’t?”

“Well then you persuade him, shake a tit if you have to dammit, he’ll eventually give into your advances,” he ran his nose up the delicate curve of her neck. “Lest he wants my sword in his gullet.” He released her. “Now go, any trouble, come find me,”

Nodding his head, he joined some members of his crew playing a game of cards at a nearby table, leaving Emma alone. Swallowing her fear, she threw her head back and forced a smile onto her face, half skipping to the man’s side. Feeling the man’s eyes on her and other parts of her body, she ordered a drink, whirling round to meet his cold stare. Feeling her bravado dissipating Emma lurched towards him and blurted; “The Queen Anne sails tonight,”  

He smiled, displaying rotting teeth, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Is that so lass? Shame such a pretty thing as yourself would be knowledgeable of such a vessel,” He took a slug of his ale, the amber liquid dribbling down his chin. He leaned into her, his breath hot and putrid against her flesh. “Ocracoke Inlet, is where what you seek resides,”

“Thank you,” she breathed, giddy that she actually had done it.

He bowed his head. “Pleasure doing business with you lass,” And with that went back to slurping his beer messily, effectively dismissing her.

Retrieving her drink from the bar, Emma began jostling through the crowd, trying to make her way back to Hook, halting momentarily when she heard her name being called.

“Emma!” It was Granny, sat around a table with three other elderly women; she beckoned Emma over with a wrinkled hand. “Come sit lassie, the Captain seems otherwise occupied,”

True to her words, Emma glanced over at Hook’s table, and immediately regretted it. A young whore had found residence on Killian’s lap and the two we’re kissing with as much enthusiasm as though they were alone, whilst the group surrounding them heckled and cheered them on. Blushing fiercely, Emma perched beside Granny, nursing her drink with her hands whilst trying to hide her flushed face.

“Here dear,” Granny pushed a flagon of deep amber liquid in front of her. “Get that down yer’, it’ll ease the chill,”

Foreign feelings of jealousy and anger bubbling inside of her, Emma grasped the flagon and emptied its contents in one gulp, narrowly avoiding choking. Granny cheered, and her companion pushed another and another Emma’s way, which she also downed swiftly. The night continued this way until the early hours of the morning, during which was the time when Emma had to escort a very drunken Granny back to The Jolly Roger. After making sure Granny got back to the kitchens safely, Emma started making her way back to Killian’s quarters, certain that she’d be in bed before him. However as she was crossing the main deck her ears alerted her to the sound of a woman seemingly in pain, astounded Emma looked around but there was not another soul in sight. Convinced it was the tiredness gripping at the recesses of her brain; Emma ignored it and carried on walking, until another shout, louder than the first, disturbed the silence once more.

And that was when she noticed. On the upper deck, spread out against the floorboards with her skirts hitched around her hips, was the whore Emma had seen kissing Killian and perched above her, hips pounding against hers was Killian himself. Blood rushing to her cheeks, Emma realised it wasn’t the whore’s cries of pain she’d heard but her cries of pleasure. Feeling emotion beyond embarrassment, Emma scaled the steps leading to Killian’s quarters in record time, not stopping until she’d shut the door firmly behind her. Now slouched against the wood, and breathing heavily, she tried to push what she’d just witnessed out of her mind, unable to stop the young girl’s cries from ringing in her ears.

Unexplainable tears pricking in her eyes, Emma wished for the first time in a long while, she was back home.    


	4. Ocracoke Inlet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Jolly Roger sets sail for Ocracoke Inlet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly I have some apologies to make;
> 
> 1) I apologize for the tardiness of this chapter. It's coming up to exam time for me and I have been shitting myself, and of course I haven't had much time to write. I've also been suffering from the bane of my life; writers block -.-
> 
> 2) I also apologize if it seems that Emma's and Killian's relationship seems a little rushed. I only intend this to be a short chaptered fic', so sorry for rushing a little.
> 
> 3) I also apologize for this installment being crappy (I'm sorry, I get better soon T-T)
> 
> Thank you for your patience and enjoy the chapter! Kudos and comments are much appreciated :)

The Jolly Roger had set sail from Porte Marianne during low tide, early the following morning, before Emma had awoken. Following the events from the previous night, Emma had slept soundly, only rousing slightly when Killian stumbled drunkenly into his chambers, in the late hours of the morning. He hadn’t bothered to disturb her, instead disrobing in a what-he- thought- was-discreet manner, and climbing into bed beside her, his arms finding her form in the darkness and pulling her flush against his bare chest. He’d fallen asleep like that, with his hand tangled in the golden expanse of her hair and his lips at her neck. When morning broke, she’d woken before him, going about her morning duties as usual before returning with his breakfast. He’d been asleep even then, although seemingly in a more troubled sleep, resulting in Emma returning the uneaten food to the kitchens, where Granny had informed her to let Killian be until he’d slept off the drink.

And still, that’s where Emma found herself now peeling vegetables, sitting on an upturned crate that had held potatoes with Granny beside her. Unlike Emma, Granny had had years of practise with food, and was effortlessly peeling carrots and parsnips with ease, whilst Emma had managed to skin herself more times than the vegetable she was holding. But with Granny’s gentle encouragement she was slowly getting the ‘knack of it’, as Granny had told her, and had already pealed a generous amount. Granny supplied most of the conversation as they worked, with Emma occasionally quipping in with one-word replies, this continued for a long while before Granny spoke up.

“You feeling alright dear? Y’don’t quite seem yourself today?”

Managing a meek smile Emma nodded. “I’m fine Granny, fret not,”

“Coming out of your mouth, is enough crap, to fertilise an entire field,” Granny arched her eyebrows, effortlessly seeing through Emma’s façade. “Spill the beans dear, what’s troubling you?”

Emma sighed, looking down at the parsnip she was currently peeling. “Last night, after I saw you down to the kitchens, I was walking back to the Captain’s quarters when I saw Killian – I mean the Captain – making love to a prostitute. It’s foolish I know, but  I-I don’t know why’s it’s bothered me so-“

“By the god’s lassie,” Granny interrupted. Rolling her eyes she pulled her perch closer to Emma’s, waving her own peeler at her, chastising her. “What you saw there wasn’t making love, it was pure fucking. No affection required in fucking nor brains either apparently,”

Emma watched as Granny finished peeling a vegetable, throwing it onto the pile, before asking her. “Do you really think so?”

“Lassie-“ Granny sighed. “-I know so. All men are the same; they want physical comfort without any of the mushy shit in-between. Why d’you think whoring is so popular these days?”

“But why would the Captain need comforting?” Emma interjected hurriedly, immediately scolding herself for sounding so eager.

Granny’s eyebrows furrowed. “Well when I saw him last night he seemed in ever such a state, I haven’t seen him drink like that for many nights. I wouldn’t be surprised if the sight of that dress set him off,” 

Emma’s heart thumped. “Dress? What dress?”

“Why the dress you wore lassie. Didn’t anyone tell you?” Upon seeing Emma’s head shake, she sighed once more. “Before you, the Captain had another ward, lovely lass she was with an equally as lovely name – Milah, if I remember correct, and my, did he adore her.”

“What happened to her?” Emma asked, in a whisper, afraid of the answer.

“She died, subject to a fever dear, and Captain Jones never really recovered from the shock of it,” she smiled sadly. “The dress was her own; no doubt seeing you in it opened a few old wounds,”

Unexpected tears pricked in Emma’s eyes. “I never meant to cause him any distress,”

“Oh lass,” putting aside her utensils, Granny pulled Emma into her embrace, her chin resting on Emma’s head as she rocked her soothingly. Her touch reminded Emma of home, and her mother’s own hold, making her cry unabashedly. “There, there lass. It isn’t your fault; time is a heart’s best healer,” She continued to hold her until her cries became sniffles. “If it’s any conciliation lassie, and I don’t mean to get your hopes up either, but the Captain has indeed become a new man since you boarded the Roger. I heard him whistling, up at the helm! I haven’t heard him whistle for nearly nine years lass, tell me do you think that’s a coincidence?”

Emma smiled sheepishly, opening her mouth to reply when suddenly the bell from the Navigation Room sounded, making Emma and Granny jerk out of their embrace. Alerting Emma that Killian required her assistance.

“Ooh, that’d be the Captain,” using the corner of her apron, Granny wiped away Emma’s tears. “Be quick lass, gods know what kind of mood he’s in today!”

Heading Granny’s warning, Emma sprinted up the wooden steps and across the decking as fast as her legs could carry her, earning a few muttered curses from crew members if she were unfortunate to stumble into one. She found herself outside the Navigation Room less than a minute later, enabling herself a few seconds to bask in her triumph, she opened the door, letting herself in. Killian didn’t even look up from his task as she entered; his dark head bowed over one of his many maps that were spread out in front of him, the long locks framing his face almost sinfully. He appeared to Emma, to be mapping out a course, which was proven when she came closer, just about making out the tacks in the canvas from where she was standing. He finally glanced up when she cleared her throat, announcing her arrival.

“Miss Swan,” he said, his voice made huskier from his excessive drinking the previous night. “I missed you at breakfast,”

Although she was still hurt, she remarkably managed to keep the emotion out of her voice. “I did not wish to disturb you Captain,”

“I thank you for your concern, however next time rouse me. The morning light has gone, and with it the time I could have saved mapping our course,” he pierced her with a glare. “But no matter, mistakes happen,”

“You have need of me?” Emma queried as he went back to perusing his map, eager to escape back to Granny’s company.

“Aye, pour me a drink.” He muttered, hand idly tracing patterns on the map’s thick canvas. “A glass of double rum, if you will lass,”

Irked by their shared knowledge that he was capable of pouring his own drinks, Emma walked as calmly as possible over to the golden welded trolley, on which he stored his liquor bottles.  Selecting a bottle of _Captain Morgan’s_ she began pouring it into a glass tumbler, with deliberate slowness, before placing it in front of him.

“I apologise if I offended you last night Miss Swan,” Killian said, without glancing up from his chore, his sudden words almost making Emma spill the heavily scented amber liquor over her hand. “I am a different man when I drink and I apologise you had to bear witness to it,”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” she murmured, starting to walk out of his reach when he grabbed her with the curve of his hook around her elbow. It was only until he used it to make her turn around, did she realise he had stood. 

“No, I do,” he said, pulling her closer to him. “I can only imagine what you think of me, and I beg for your forgiveness,”

Emma wasn’t sure if it was due to his words or due to the foreign feelings she’d started harbouring since she’d boarded his vessel but his proximity made her breathless. Without pausing to think she threaded her fingers in the cotton of his shirt and pulled him to her, their lips meeting with a soft grunt on his part. It lasted moments before Emma wrenched away, horrified with herself, babbling her apologies she tried to explain, not getting far when Killian silenced her with his lips against hers once more. This time it was different, electricity arced between their two bodies making Emma anchor her hold on his shirt once more, hanging onto him for dear life. His teeth sunk down into her bottom lip, causing her to gasp into the kiss, so that Killian could take advantage and sweep his tongue inside her mouth to tangle with hers, his bodily reaction unmissable, even as she felt the push of his leathers pressed up against her thigh. She whimpered as his mouth offered her a completely different meaning to pillage and plunder. Breaking the kiss, with a hand on her hip and his hook at the curve of her buttocks, he hoisted her around his waist, resuming the kiss with passionate vigour.

Somewhere in-between kissing him, Emma registered herself being set on his desk, her spread legs accommodating him nicely. “Wait,” she gasped for air, her hands pushing at his chest, fingers still clasped in his shirt. “I can’t breathe,”

They panted together for a while, his forehead resting against hers. “You’re right Swan, there was a reason I needed you here,” His only hand wrapping round each ankle in turn he placed her feet on the edge of the desktop, widening her stance further. “But it’s a completely selfish reason,” His lips trailed a path across her shoulder to her collarbone, his hand dropping to the ties of her bodice. “May I?”

“Yes,” she breathed, her eyes following his hands as he unlaced the garment swiftly and skilfully. Tugging the material down and out the way, her breasts fell into his hold, the skin rough against her own.

“Truly, you are beautiful,” Killian whispered against her flesh. “The most beautiful treasure of all,”

Breathlessly, Emma watched as his dark head bowed over her bosom, his hand plumping up one of her breasts so his fingers could toy with the sensitive peak. Gently he plucked at the rose-hued bud, prompting a soft moan from Emma, startling herself into covering her mouth with her hand, shocked by how wanton she sounded. She felt his mouth curve into a smirk against her flesh, his hooked arm coming up to tug her hand away, silently reprimanding her. Hands now clutching the edge of his desk beside her thighs, Emma watched Killian cup and heft her left breast fully in his hand, his eyes capturing hers as he sucked her nipple into the warm, wet alcove of his mouth. Embarrassed by his erotic display, Emma closed her eyes as foreign feelings of arousal swept through her body, caressing her in the most intimate of places. Much like the rest of him, Killian’s mouth was ruthless, ravaging her with tenderness only Emma could bring out in him.

Whilst his mouth lavished attention on one nipple, his fingers paid equal attention to the other, worrying and pinching it in-between his fingertips until it became elongated and swollen from his touch. After a few minutes of teasing touches, Killian released the peak he’d captured, blowing a cool stream of air across the now hyper-sensitive bud, Emma bit back a moan. “Feel good love?”

She nodded, painfully aware of her too-flushed cheeks and heaving chest. “Please-“

He hushed her with a finger to her lips, the cool metal of his rings soothing against her heated flesh. “All in good time love,” his hand stroked down her naked waist, stopping when it reached the milky skin of her thigh.  Hitching the skirts of her dress up with his hook, he ran a finger along the waistband of her smallclothes. “May I?”

In answer she raised her hips slightly, enabling him to peel them off, squirreling them away into the back pocket of his leathers. Once the small chore was done, Killian sunk to his haunches, his hand widening her stance further. Emma’s cheeks burned with the realisation of what he was doing, even after he’d been suckling at her breast like a newborn babe, still she jumped at the fleeting touch of his fingers on her nether lips. Gently, using his thumb and forefinger, he parted the folds, making Emma feel as skittish as a lamb and wishing she’d bathed herself this morning.

“Aye, just as I expected,” Killian breathed. “Your just as beautiful down here, as pink as a seashell,”  He ran a questing finger through her slit, testing her wetness. “And so wet,”

Gripping her calves, Killian hoisted her legs over his shoulders, his face bracketed by her thighs. Softly he pressed kisses along the insides of them, his stubble creating a strange yet not unpleasant sensation against her skin, moving upwards at a steady pace until he placed a final kiss _there_. Emma barely had time to gather her already scattered thoughts before his tongue swiped a broad, long strip along her core, his fingernails digging into and leaving crescent moon marks embedded in her skin. Unhurried and careful Killian proceeded to lap at her like a cat with a bowl of cream, intent to devour every drop, continuing to hold her gaze as he pleasured her.  Emma gasped, dropping back fully against his desk, her hips moving in time with the ministrations of his mouth, of their own accord. Scrabbling for purchase on something, Emma weaved her fingers into his hair, the action full of need and imploring him to continue.

Suddenly Killian switched his focus to the hooded nub at the crown of her slit, his tongue fluttering against and tracing patterns over it with just the correct amount of pressure to make Emma squirm, knowing Killian it had most likely been done on purpose. A series of soft cries escaped her and Emma canted her hips upwards, the new stance lasting but a moment before Hook swung his stunted forearm over her stomach, effectively pinning her down against the wood. Shuttering her eyes closed, Emma gave herself over the moment. Back home, the only talk she’d heard about this kind of thing was when her and a group of older girls had snuck into her father’s barn one night and traded stories. Most had told her to expect unimaginable pain, even blood, whereas others had recited what her mother had said, that it was a woman’s duty to her husband. Well, Emma thought, if this was duty she’d be happy to do it.

Gradually Emma could feel something building within her, starting within her stomach and then ebbing away to other parts of her, more so the place between her legs. Worrying her bottom lip between her lip between her teeth Emma twined her other hand, that wasn’t in Killian’s hair, in the hoisted skirts of her dress, clutching onto her remaining sanity. Between the purposeful, skilled movements of his tongue the pressure within her built, tightening inside her like a spring begging to be released. With the touch of Killian’s fingers and tongue against that special nub, Emma’s body convulsed with a cry, her toes curling and her body almost managing to fold in on itself, if it weren’t for Killian’s strong hold on her hips. Limp and sated, Emma leaned back against the mahogany of Killian’s desk, watching as he resurfaced from between her thighs with the grin of a buccaneer who’d just captured what he’d wanted. His mouth sought out hers, but she turned away shyly, unsure if she wanted to taste herself on him. His grin widened at her dismissal, but he did not make move to kiss her again, instead while she basked in her post-orgasmic haze he began swiftly redressing her, much to Emma’s confusion.

“W-What about you?” Emma managed, as he secured her bodice back in place.

“I am still in occupation of my right hand am I not Miss Swan?” Killian teased, his bluntness causing her cheeks to redden once more. “I’ll take my pleasure when you leave, for I’m sure Granny requires your assistance in the kitchen still,”

She was about to protest when he proffered his hand, which she took, helping her down from his desk. Conscious about her disarrayed state Emma smoothed down her skirts, hoping her cheeks would lose their colour before she had to face any members of the crew, or worse Granny. “Is that all you require of me Captain?”

His eyes lingered on her longer than necessary before saying. “Yes Miss Swan, you are dismissed…for now,”

***

After three long hours down in the kitchens, bent double over a pile of vegetables and burning her hands on hot pots and pans, Emma was finally off duty for the rest of the night. Granny had dismissed her after she’d managed to smash twelve plates consecutively, telling Emma that she could finish up herself. Taking the steps leading up to the main deck two at a time, Emma walked out into a peaceful summer’s night. Also off duty for the night, the crew sat together in groups, some playing cards whilst shouting over one another. Some even played music on harmonicas and melodeon’s as others sung drunkenly along and danced. Looking past this Emma spotted Killian manning the helm, whilst talking with Smee, neither man looked jovial. Against her better judgment Emma crept closer, flattening herself against the wooden walls to make certain that neither caught her eavesdropping on their conversation.

“But Captain… _Ocracoke Inlet_? It’s suicide,” Mr Smee’s voice came, he sounded terrified. Emma could picture him standing beside Hook, clutching his crimson hat and twisting it around in his hands, like he always did when he was nervous.

“I don’t give a damn what it is Mr Smee,” Hook spat the words venomously at the portly man, very much unlike the man who’d brought her to her pleasure just a few hours ago. “We’ve set course and should arrive at high tide tomorrow,”

“Captain,” Mr Smee’s voice sounded strained. “If you value the lives of your men and your own, don’t underestimate him,”

“Hold your tongue Smee!” Emma flinched against the wall at the sound of Killian’s raised voice, having never heard him angry before. “I more than anyone here know of the dangers at Ocracoke. Besides the man has something of mine, I merely want it returned,”

“You’re a fool if you think he’d willingly give it to you,”

Suddenly there came a harsh sound and a yelp, almost making Emma cry out, of something solid hitting something else. It took Emma mere seconds to figure out what had happened.

“You forget your station William Smee,” Hook hissed. “I strongly suggest that you run like the rat you are, down to the deck and get those braggarts to work. I intend to set foot on the sands of Ocracoke on the rising morn, and may the gods help you all if I don’t,”

Less than a moment later there came the sound of heavy, rapidly retreating footsteps, quickly Emma hid in the shadows, watching with a pounding heart as Smee rushed past her, nursing his cheek with his hand. Emma stayed against the wood for a moment, chest heaving, and mind brimming with new knowledge. Ocracoke Inlet? Sailor or landlubber, every man knew what that meant, and knew of the horrors that awaited sailors brave enough to sail its perilous waters.

But, Emma thought, why would a man like Killian have business with _Blackbeard_?


End file.
